


Codex

by Kirrae



Category: Assassin's Creed
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-01-28
Updated: 2013-01-28
Packaged: 2017-11-27 06:27:52
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,649
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/658926
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kirrae/pseuds/Kirrae
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Perhaps it was the woman's writing, perhaps it was his own connection to the man, or maybe it was just the man himself, but as he read Maria Thorpe's words, he could not help but fall for Altair.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [The Garden of the Hesperides](https://archiveofourown.org/external_works/16298) by manic-intent. 



> Disclaimer: I do not own rights to anything even tangentially related to Assassin's Creed.

Perhaps it was the woman’s writing, perhaps it was his own connection to the man, or maybe it was just the man himself, but as he read Maria Thorpe’s words, he could not help but fall for Altair. He had found the woman’s journal stored in a church’s catacombs in a small town outside Bari. He had been confused when he noticed the signature- he could not fathom why the woman’s journal would have survived, no less why it was in Italy, but he cared little for the factual details once he had begun reading. His french was rather poor, but the language was close enough to his own that he could figure out most of the text. And there was always Leonardo, God bless the man. 

She had lived a sad life, it seemed, but was not resentful for it, and that was something Ezio could respect, even in a Templar- disavowed or not. Morose as the words often were- she was a proud but often depressed woman- the tale she wove of her assassin was captivating. Showed a side of the Eagle of Masyaf that was hidden from the Codex- a much younger side of the man before he began to loose himself. More often than not, he found himself wanting to grab the other assassin by the shoulders and tell him everything would be all right, that things would work out, in the end, and to break that damn golden orb into pieces. But he could not, as the years that separated them made the man a fiction to Ezio. The apple, on the other hand, that he could deal with, but what good would it serve? 

_They will not allow me in Masyaf, as to be expected. I would certainly not welcome them in France, so at least the feeling is mutual. He comes to visit often, runs a few errands for me, but often just stays to talk. I’m glad for the break, I had needed some time to sort my thoughts, but this child, I had not planned this. I know he will be a good father though. It shows in his face every time he lays a hand on my now rounded stomach._  

_Though I do not bow to the Templars any longer, I reside in Acre as a soldier’s widow. I hope he understands my sacrifice, but likely he does not. How could a man?_  

She then went on to detail the exact stipulations of her living situation, which, although insightful, was not what Ezio was hoping for. He skipped a few pages. 

_I have not seen him in nearly a year. I had been hoping this diary wouldn’t simply catalogue how often I saw him, but it is only he who sets my thoughts on like this, where I need to write them. I fear the apple has taken him and I can only despair. I remember when he used to visit every month, every season, and I remember the last time I saw him. He was shaken. His normally bright eyes dulled with old pain. Adha. I did not even need to ask. But then, he spoke:_  

_“You know that I love you, will always love you?”_  

_I could only tell him yes, I knew._  

_“And you know of Adha. Maria, I fear you are not the last.”_  

_At first I wanted to scream, to demand who she was, but his eyes wouldn’t let me. I fear that if he ever knew quite what those eyes were capable of, he’d become a monster- or perhaps let his hood down more often. But to know that would make him a different man. He would not be Altair if he understood just how much he affected those around him._  

_“I have never met him. I do not think I ever will. But I know him, Maria.”_  

_“The apple?”_  

_“As always.”_  

_“Burn it, Altair.”_  

_“There are others, we can never destroy them all. There is not the time. They are too powerful.”_  

_“Meaning you cannot do it.”_  

_“Maria-”_  

_I cut him off and he said no more the entire time he stayed in Acre. He took down his target, returned to cook for me (he knew how much I loved his cooking and the dishes of his home), and left without another word. The last thing he said to me was my name. I think that is a goodbye I can stand, and I will do everything in my power to insure that it stays that way. I am leaving, in a month. I hope he does not come for me. I hope he finds his third, but I fear the years that separate them- centuries. Mostly I fear what he will do to assure he meets the other._  

_The Altair that left me was not the one who saved me. No more did he laugh at the rare moments when I acted like a proper member of my sex. No more did he smile when he saw me. No more did he scowl at the thought of others touching him. No more did he jump to attack at insults. No more did he stalk the streets. No more did he leap from the rooftops, soul singing in joy. Now there was only sadness; the man I loved broken, meek, and tattered, twisted with wisdom._  

_If that cursed object ever surfaces again, I would wish it destroyed, smashed into pieces, but I fear. I fear so much._  

She ended her treatise there, signing only Maria Thorpe in the margin. And Ezio was compelled to hunt down that orb and finish it. 

* * *

 

Later on, when Ezio had fallen into the apple’s grasp and met the man, he almost cried at just how broken and inhuman he seemed. Three centuries in a piece of metal were certainly not kind to one’s sanity. The other _looked_ like he’d been in a piece of metal for three centuries - haggard, gaunt as all hell, there was a gleam in his eyes that spoke of madness. 

He neither addressed Ezio nor made a move to attack him, but just stared at him with lifeless eyes for several long moments that seemed to stretch for an eternity and it hit Ezio then that _this was how the other had lived since his death_. Blank in mind and spirit, left with nothing but himself. It was worse than even the deepest circle of Dante’s hell. 

_If I had ever believed in God, I would do so no longer._ Words scribbled on the back of a codex page, but they had always seemed more real than the rest of the text, absent-minded though they were. 

* * *

 

He didn’t need the memorized descriptions of the man from Maria’s journal, nor the likeness of him chiseled in stone for Ezio to recognize the assassin. He had _dreamed_ of that face; but younger, without the terrible wisdom held in those eyes, happy and loving, almost protective. Years had passed since the last time gold eyes had haunted his only hours of peace, but they had continued to blaze in his soul. He had countless memories of them driving him into the arms of countless women and none of them matching the sheer _power_ he felt when that eagle’s gaze held him captive. 

He started tentatively, calling the other’s name. “Altair, is that you?” 

The other jerked in response, growling. “How do you know my name?” 

“I have read your codex, my friend.” 

“Why are you here, fool? If you have read the codex, you should have known better.” 

“Mi dispiace amico mio, it was an accident.” 

The other scoffs at him and turns to the birds that litter the trees and the ramparts of the fortress that has slowly built itself around them. 

“Do you see what fools they send to me? What use do I have of him? Pathetic gods thinking they can _help_ when even they cannot do what I require.” 

Ezio took a hesitant step foreword. 

“Altair?” 

The other responds violently. 

“Why are you still here, novice?” 

“I do not know how to leave.” 

The next question Ezio doesn’t have a clear answer to. 

“Are you dead?” 

“I- I do not know.” 

“Then you are.” 

His world slowly breaks down around him as he remembers. Remembers the pain, the falling, the wounds he knew he couldn’t recover from, the way his brothers looked at him as he stumbled in bloody and broken and old, far too old for such a mission. His dying words had been some jumbled mess of appointing a successor and relief. 

He shakes himself from the reverie, for there is little he can do in memories. All that is left for him to do is fix the man in front of him - the man who switches from indifference, to cruelty, to anger with a speed that is unhinged and inhuman. 

“It’s not important.” 

“Isn’t it? Isn’t it the prerogative of the dead to relieve their memories searching for ways that things could have gone better, to peruse the what ifs, the moments lost that could never be regained?” 

“Perhaps, but I have not the time.” 

“Don’t you? You are dead, or have you forgotten, fool? The world outside this waits for nothing. You are dead and gone. What have you left to do?” 

“Well,” he decides he’ll just state his plan plainly. “I could help you.” 

“With what? I need nothing from your memory, from your life, nor even from what remains of you.” 

“I think you do, maestro.” 

“Do what you will, novice.” 

And the other flees, as best he can in a void, by disappearing for a moment only to reappear sitting on a bench, book in hand. 

“I cannot do what I want to if you don’t cooperate, brother.” 

“I am no brother of yours.” 

“We are both assassin’s, no?” 

“You are hardly what I would call an assassin.”

Ezio laughs, for a reason he does not truly understand, the statement hits him in a way that reminds him of the old men who would sit in the piazza and bemoan the days gone by, thinking of times when they had been young, when things had been better. 

Altair, predictably, does nothing. This does not bother Ezio. The man cannot be reading, because he would have had to create anything that he was reading. The book was likely blank or was filled with the codex pages. Certainly the man could not remember every word to a book he had read before. Or perhaps he could. Ezio is not sure if such a thing were possible, but he had never seen fit to try. Regardless, if the man were truly reading, he was the most violent reader the Italian had ever seen. He decides, again, to throw any tact to the wind. 

“What are you reading.” 

“Nothing of consequence.” 

“So, nothing then?” 

“Hardly.” 

“What then?” 

“Memories.” 

“So, nothing.” 

“Indeed.” 

“Wait, really? I was right.” 

Before Ezio can complete his epic victory dance, his brilliance is undercut with the precision of a satirist. 

“It’s unlikely.” 

“B-but you just said-?” Sputtering indignation was never his strong suit. 

“That we agreed, but I did not mean that it was nothing in the way that you intended.” 

“Oh.” 

“You have no idea what I meant, do you child?” 

“I’m not a-” 

“Comparatively speaking, you are indeed. Now be a good child and keep your mouth shut.” 

“Why should I?” 

“Because you accomplish nothing.” 

“I’d beg to differ.” 

“That you would.” 

“Would you like to know why?” 

“Hardly, but you’ll tell me anyway.” 

“I’ve gotten you to have a somewhat-civil conversation. That’s something.” 

“It’s such an accomplishment. You should be proud, novice.” 

“I am.” 

When the other laughed at this, Ezio was unsure of what he ought to do. To laugh along with him would imply a sense of familiarity that they did not have. But to ignore the barking sound would alienate the older man, make the noise echo in the abyss and cause whatever he had unintentionally discovered to return into hiding. That he just could not allow. He found himself laughing at the others laughter, it was a cycle that continued until he was almost entirely certain that they’d have appeared mad to any observer. Perhaps, because there wasn’t one, they were. 

“I do not know why that was funny brother, but I am glad to have gotten you to laugh.” 

“Why?” 

The simple question threw him. Again. 

“You do not seem the type to laugh often. Therefore I am glad.” 

“So easy to please, little eagle.” 

“You’ve given me a pet name now?” 

“You did not give your name.” 

“You did not try to find it.” 

“Making me work for it, hmm? I suppose I can work with that, Auditore.” 

“You knew?” 

“Indeed.” 

The grin that broke out on Ezio’s face at that would have blinded a lesser man. 

“Sly old bastard.” 

There was an answering grin on the other’s face.  

“Indeed.” Perhaps he was glad for the company after all. “Foolish child.” 

“What?” 

“Your manners are atrocious.” 

“I’m an assassin. People see me and run screaming, what kind of manners do you expect me to have?” 

“I’d at least expect the son of a banker to know how to introduce himself. At the very least to his superiors.” 

“You’re not my master.” 

“Aren’t I?”

It was then that Ezio reconsidered the wisdom of his venture. _Too late to change plans now_ , he thought, _I’ve already committed to it._  

“Ah, but I think you better remind me.” Dear God, he was flirting with Altair. He really was daft, wasn’t he? 

“What kind of lesson ought I teach you?” 

“Shouldn’t you know the answer to that?” 

“Smartass.” 

“You flatter me, Maestro.” 

“Indeed. You certainly aren’t what one would call ‘smart.’ However, you are an ass.” 

“And now you wound me. So heartless.” 

He can barely finish the sentence at this point, his laughter overwhelming all other speech capabilities. He really had not been expecting this. 

“You need to be alive to have a heart that beats, Ezio.” 

“And this is why you are the Maestro, and I the novice.” 

“How they ever let a silver-tongued fool become Mentor is beyond me.” 

“I think it was mostly my devilishly good looks.” 

“That and some dreadful competition, I’m certain.” 

“You are correct, brother. Now, how about we agree to an exchange of services?” 

“And what service can you do me?” 

“I cannot give you the end you search for, but I can at least keep you company. That is better than being alone and insane for centuries, no?” 

“Perhaps it is. What do you need of me?” 

“The same, Insegnante. The same.” 

Altair had long since dropped the book, but he now places it beside him and stands, offering a hand to Ezio. The Italian takes the proffered, four-fingered limb, and is pulled into a worlhe has never seen before. All soaring towers of glass and machines that hurtle past at speeds Ezio can hardly track with his eyes. 

“I wish I could have shown Malik this.” 

“What is it?” 

“The future.” 

“Really?” 

“No. Of course it is, what else could it be?” 

“A fantasy, perhaps?” 

“Isn’t that what the future is inherently?” 

“I do not know. I leave the philosophy to others. I am poorly versed in it.” 

“I can see as much.” There’s a playfulness there that Ezio is glad to hear, it causes pride to surge into and through his being, the feeling singing in what would be his veins, had he any left. 

“Perhaps that is something you can teach me.” 

“I think it might be beyond your grasp.” 

“You’re a harsh man, Altair.” 

“Such I was made to be.” 

“If that is true, then I pity you, Amico.” And pity he did, for he knew it was true. Mostly though, there was sympathy and affection. That same damned desire to pull the other into his arms and heal him simply with his touch wells in his soul. He knows it would be futile. Pointless. Altair is not a man you sneak up on, nor one you touch without permission. And Ezio certainly does not have permission.

“I have no need for such things.” 

“You don’t need much, do you?” 

“So you _can_ listen. I’m amazed.” 

“I’m serious.” 

“As am I.” 

“It must be lonely.” 

“Profoundly.” 

“How did this happen?” 

“It began to call me after a while. It would ensnare my brain until all I could think of was when my next chance to dive would be. I lost myself easily. It can take control of one’s mind with little difficulty and has a will of it’s own. I died while immersed in it’s depths and have been within it since. Perhaps longer.” 

There was something in the despair and self loathing in the words that killed Ezio. Or perhaps it wasn’t a tone in the words, but more of Ezio’s feelings for the man. Those indomitable urges to protect and hold and cherish that, really, could only mean one thing. A certain pesky emotion that Ezio would sooner turn into a fish than admit to feeling for this shell of a man. 

“That is something that could happen to many.” He wants to say _You did so much with that knowledge, did so much good, how could I ever begrudge you for falling victim to it’s insidiousness. When I have done the same, how could I hold it against_ you _?_ But he is a coward and says nothing of the sort. Perhaps it is all for the best, as the pathetic bit of information that he _does_ manage to divulge manages only to send Altair into a fit of rage. 

“It has. It has happened to many men before and after. It will happen to more. The problem is not that it happened, nor that I succumbed, but that I _could_. That it was _inevitable_. That- I’ve just managed to talk myself into circles. It has been too long. Too long since I’ve actually had to put my thoughts into words. I-” The man trailed off, head in his hands, and despair painted across his face as clearly as his scar. 

“Altair. I- I understand. Sometimes, things don’t make a lot of sense. What we think and what we say are often incongruous. Specifically with what we must do, what we have done. I can blame you no more for this than I can myself.” 

“That was not what I meant.” 

“Then what did you mean?” 

“That I really should just strangle you and save us both the pain.” 

“Aw, come now, Maestro, certainly you don’t mean that.” 

He heard the distinct slide of a hidden blade sliding from it’s sheath before he was pinned to the ground. 

“Would you like to test that hypothesis?” 

“Not at the present moment. Thank you.” 

The other grinned roguishly at him and leaned closer. The part of Ezio that had wanted this as long as he’d been alive, the part of him that yearned for the closeness purred in the back of his mind, whispering _finally_. But Altair did not close the entire distance. He hovered, a scant inch above Ezio’s lips, and lowered the lids of his eyes; blinking slowly. In all of the brothels the younger had ever frequented, he had never seen something so erotic, never felt it the way he could, now, in the press of the older’s hips into his, the strength of the Syrian’s weight straddled over his thighs, and the slight breaths that ghosted over his face. He could die again in that moment and be happy. _But living long enough to finish this would certainly be better_. 

So he surged forward and sealed their mouths together in a way that ended his swirling thoughts. For a moment he hoped the same could be said for the one seated on top of his hips, but those thoughts were dashed as the other pressed impossibly closer, grinding into him, and he gasped, allowing Altair’s lips to dance down his throat. 

“A-Altair!” He could think nothing but the name of his lover. Could say nothing else. 

Unfortunately, the other must have taken this as some sign to stop, as the weight was removed in haste. Ezio looked up only to see Altair standing several feet away, panting and facing anything but the assassin behind him. 

“Altair-” The other drifted farther away. 

_This_ was not what he had intended, at all. 

“Damnit Altair, wait!” He raced off in pursuit of the other as the terrain around them changed, transformed beneath his feet into flat roofs he’d never seen, into a hazy heat, with a high sun, and a desert in the distance. He followed the man until he lost him around a sharp turn down a small alley. They were alone, but with the buildings, there were thousands of places where Altair could hide. He skidded to a halt and gave up. 

“Fine, bastardo. If that’s how you want things, I won’t bother you. I’ll pretend you haven’t just ripped out part of my soul, and I’ll live. That’s all I can do.” 

He spoke more to himself than the other, but he hoped that somewhere, someway, the other had heard him. He wanted Altair back. Even angry and distant, having the man around was better than being alone. 

“Fuck. How can I miss you already, huh? I must be a fool, to get so attached to such a - merda. I am screwed.” 

He broke into one of the nearby houses, took up a bedroll, and climbed onto a roof. No need to sleep inside if the whole thing was an illusion. Maybe, when he woke up, Altair would be back. 

* * *

 

He was woken rather cruelly with a boot in his ribs. 

“Get up you idiot! Do you want to freeze?” 

“Is that even possible.” 

“Unless we switch locations, you’ll be rather cold until the sun rises again. It’s a desert, what do you expect?” 

“Can we go somewhere else then?” 

“Where would you have us go, child?” 

“‘S Masyaf warm at night?” 

“Not what I’d call warm, by any standards, but none of this will kill you, if that’s what you mean.” 

“Then can we stay here?” 

“If you shiver yourself into a coma, don’t blame me.” 

The other moved to jump off the roof. 

“No Altair! Don’t. Please?” 

“Why do you want me to stay?” 

“Because you’re warm?” 

“Somehow, I doubt that’s the truth.” 

It was. Partly. The truth that his sleep-clouded mind could think of, at least. But Altair would leave if he didn’t give a better reason, he’d heard the threat in the words as clearly as if they were spoken aloud. 

“I like having you around, you ass. I-” he steeled himself for the coming explosion of awkward that would result thanks to his next few sentences. “I have dreamed of you for some time. Since I can remember I have seen gold eyes gazing at me in my sleep. I have felt safe, protected, perhaps loved. I cannot recall it properly, as dreams are just phantoms. I just know that I feel the same when you are around. It was your eyes that I saw, Altair. No one else has that eagle’s gaze.” He turned his face away from the other, lest his eyes give him away. 

So focused was Ezio on the imminent rejection that he assumed would come that he missed the fond look that took up residence in those eyes. He did not notice the other’s approach until Altair’s abbreviated left hand alighted on his shoulder, turning him into the body at his side. 

“Ezio, look at me.” Two fingers under his chin assured his compliance. He raised his eyes and caught the blank look on the elder’s face, yet before he could comment it faded into a slow, crooked smile. “I can no more judge you for that when I would have done the same.” 

“Using my own words against me, insegnante. I should have known you’d do something so underhanded.” 

“It is not deceit if I mean them as much as you had when you first spoke their like.” 

“Poetics now? Trying to woo me?” 

“I do not need to try.” 

_Cocky bastard_. 

“Only occasionally.” 

“WHAT?!” 

“You don’t exactly have the skill of thinking to yourself, do you?” 

“What?” 

“Repeating yourself? You really must love to run your mouth.” 

“I’ll run you through-” 

“Would you really?” 

“Not likely.” 

“It’s alright. I wouldn’t be able to do so either.” 

“Really?” 

“Would you like to test that?” 

“Maybe I would.” 

The slide of the other’s hidden blade alerted him to the press of metal against his throat and he could keep time by the man’s ability to follow predictably violent patterns. 

“Such violence is unbecoming.” 

“There’s no one to impress.” 

“This is true. I think you have me then.” _Fuck that came out wrong_. 

“Do I indeed?” 

And Altair’s lips were on his: teasing, biting, searching. All Ezio could do was moan like a wanton whore and wrap his legs around the older’s waist, gasping the other’s name in a string of possessive claims - all of which were affirmed and returned. Solemn pledges, but necessary to keep on the side of sanity. 

Altair’s lips stop when they reach the younger’s collar, hands still in their search for skin to slide against. He looks into brown eyes and Ezio can see his thoughts. How he wants to continue but doubts the wisdom of doing so, how he wants to take this _slow_ because all they have is time. The Auditore nods in response and instead of disentangling himself, like the Italian had thought, the Son of None presses another kiss to swollen lips and wraps himself further into his descendant, until their breathing slows and the memory of sleep overcomes them. 

When they wake, Altair shows him the worlds he knew and the ones he found. Ezio returns the favor by walking Altair through the streets of Venice, navigating the labyrinth city with practiced ease and he is somewhat surprised when the older man lets him lead them to the edge of the water by the Piazza San Marco to watch the sun set. 

They talk of their lives, of their fears and triumphs, but mostly they talk of their thoughts. The ones that plagued them but could never be given light. There is something liberating about doing so only with one another. This, inevitably, leads to Ezio teaching the elder how to swim. 

It was possibly the funniest thing the Italian had seen in ages. 

Of course, there were the days they decided to fight one another. While they couldn’t die and wounds closed in seconds, they tried to avoid getting hit. It was instinct, and showed skill. However, the days where they decided to test one another’s stealth, Ezio was annoyed to find that the Syrian was eternally vigilant and could blend with the shadows as if he was one of them. 

“How did you ever survive as long as you did?” 

“I’m not that bad!” 

“Ezio, you just tripped over a rock.” 

“You’re cruel caro. Mocking me when I’m injured.” 

“Please, you barely scraped your hand, and it healed hours ago.” 

“Not the point. My pride is wounded.” 

“Far be it from me to deprive you of the required ego mending. Go sulk in a corner.” 

“You totally stole that from Malik.” 

“Be careful, or I’ll start calling you a novice.” 

“Well, we can’t be having that, now can we?” 

“Hardly.” 

The gap between them barely exists anymore. Part of them knows that all of this is a lie, they don’t have bodies anymore, but they still feel one another, and that is enough for now. They move slowly, dreamlike, and remain tangled in one another on the memory of Ezio’s bed in Montereggioni. There was something cathartic for Ezio about lying on that bed with that man, something that told him he was right where he ought to be, and he should never even think of moving. From what he could tell of Maria, Ezio knew she’d have approved of the thought, just as he agreed that the man they loved really ought to smile more. Ezio was sorely tempted to make that his new life goal. And considering how long he had - an eternity in this metal sphere - he might as well.

* * *

 

_Let him find his peace and happiness, with whomever he can now that I am gone. I only want him to smile again, to run across the rooftops as free as he ever was, to be the man I loved once more. As selfish as that is, it is my dying wish._


	2. Reflection over the Y-Axis

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This kind of ignores all canon after ACII, also, a slight bit of heavily implied Shawn/Des in this chapter.

Desmond Miles had never considered himself a coward, especially not after living through his ancestors’ memories, but not even Des could handle the sight that was currently inhabiting his mind. He had to be crazy, because there was no way that the two assassins that were curled into one another were actually on his floor. He was never touching the apple again. Scratch that, he was going to destroy every piece of eden, ever. Because they were evil insanity-inducing spawns of satan. 

When he realized that it was Altair facing him and that said Syrian’s eyes were open, he panicked. Obviously both were awake and prepared to move at the slightest indication. Altair was tensed like a bowstring and Ezio was doing that thing where his eyes were closed but he was more aware than ever. Altair’s gold eyes burned as he opened his mouth to speak. 

“Hello Desmond.” 

Ezio turned slowly in the other’s arms, opening his eyes, and in that precise moment Desmond realized two things: 

1\. His ancestors looked nothing like how he thought they did. The animus did some strange things, he realized, because even when he was them, he was still _Desmond_ and thus their faces became a twisted amalgam of their own and his, and as his mind simply could not handle the fact that he looked like someone else, it often morphed Altair and Ezio into Desmond-with-creepy-eyes and Desmond-with-long-hair. Altair’s jaw was much more defined than his own, his skin far paler - almost european in its coloring- and his nose a slim severe line that gave his face an almost hawkish appearance. Ezio looked far more like a womanizer- with big brown eyes that carried his soul, high cheekbones, his mother’s eyebrows and his father’s nose.

2\. Desmond was severely out of shape from all that time in the Animus, and he really ought to work on that, if he was ever supposed to do half the things the men before him had. 

The next thing Desmond did was panic. 

* * *

 

It was probably the fastest he had ever run. When he got to the closest room that seemed safe - i.e. Shawn Hasting’s quarters, he started banging on the door and screaming.

“Shawn. Shawn. Shawn. Shawn. Shawn. Shawn. Shawn. Shawn. Shawn. Shawn. Shawn. Shawn. Shawn. Shawn. Shawn. Shawn. Shawn. Shawn. Shawn. Shawn. Shawn. Shawn. Shawn. Shawn. Shawn. Shawn. Shawn-“ 

He was still going when the brit opened the door.

“Desmond, you idiot. What are you even doing awake right now? It’s half three and I was attempting to get as far away from you as possible, which isn’t going to happen if you keep knocking on my door like a deranged Neanderthal-“

 “Shawn, I think I’ve gone crazy.” 

The historian sighed and propped his hip against the door jamb, _this was going to take forever_.

“You passed that point a long time ago, I’m afraid.” _Snark made time pass quicker_. Or so he tried to tell himself.

 “No, this is worse than normal.”

“I’m not sure that’s even possible.”

“Shaaaawn-” _The idiot was whining now, “_ I touched the apple and now I think my ancestors are on the floor and they were all cuddly but like **death** and I don’t know what is wrong with me, but you have to come with me. Please can you go look? Please?”

“The things I do for you. Will you go back to sleep if I check your bloody room for ancient assassins who. are. not. there?”

Desmond nodded and they were at his door in moments. He breathed a sigh of relief when the floor was empty. 

 “Oh, thank God they’re gone.” 

Unfortunately, he did not bother to check further into the room than that.

 “I’m hurt. Don’t you love us Dessy?”

 The thickly accented English had Desmond clinging to Shawn like a woman. And ‘eep’ing. He actually ‘eep’ed. Shawn was way too tired to be bothered with hiding his amusement, so he laughed. Flat out cackled.

 “Caro, are you sure they’re sane?” The Italian turned to the man beside him, both hooded men looked quite like the birds of death they were supposed to embody as they stood in one of the darkened corners, blending but not invisible.

“Indeed. I suppose we must have startled them. Not that I can’t imagine why, _Ezzy_.”

 “Fine. Be that way, _Alty_.” The older chuckled lowly, getting some sick amusement out of the pet names.

Desmond was now obviously confused, likely thinking that there was no way that _Altair_ was actually laughing at _Ezio_ , who was physically pouting. Something was seriously wrong with him. Granted, there was, just not what he had thought.

 “Well, this was unexpected.”

“You must be Shawn.” One beaked hood turned to face the Brit, amusement fleeing from Altair’s features like mice from light.

“I’m not going to question how you know that, but I will assure you that I know very well who you are. No need for introductions.” Although he very much doubted he’d get one from either man.

“WHAT IS GOING ON?”

“Well Desmond, it seems that you’ve managed to summon your ancestors, by being a general idiot. If that’s all, I’m going back to sleep.”

“Shawn don’t leave me here.”

“Just think of it as a family reunion. It’s been a while for you, hasn’t it?”

“Damn it, Shawn.”

“You really do like saying my name don’t you?” Sick, sick amusement was now emanating from Shawn’s every pore and he loved it.

“Sorry to break up this lover’s spat, but, we have a few questions, if you don’t mind, mi amici.”

 “W-what? We, we aren’t-“

“Regardless, why did you call us?” _Altair doesn’t play games, does he?_ He could respect that.

“I didn’t mean to.”

“Looks like we’re early then, caro.”

“Wait- what’s with the endearments?”

“Like you don’t know.” It really wasn’t that hard to figure out, from the way they interacted with one another - far more alive than they’d ever seemed from the glimpses the Animus had shown (and for Ezio, that was saying something). There was also their close proximity, the fact that they appeared incredibly comfortable with one another, and that _look_. It wasn’t the type of thing anyone would write about, just a subtle respect and affection that told only of friendship, unless one was aware that the ones sharing that look were both time-hardened assassins. Then, it was the thing of cinematic endeavors and flowery poetry. WHICH SHAWN WOULD NOT WRITE- at least until he was safely behind his desk with several ounces of coffee in his system and a few more hours of sleep.

“What?”

“Desmond, your ancestors are _together,_ and in case you didn’t catch my meaning, I’m implying that they have sex, probably often, and are likely mutually attached to one another.”

“I didn’t need to know that Shawn.” Desmond huffed, then the reality caught up to him, and he froze- barely even breathing.

“You asked.”

“I think you broke him.” Ezio waved a hand in front of his face, trying to distract him.

“Probably. G’d evening, gentlemen. I’ll be taking him with me.”

Altair grinned, and Ezio was never prouder to call the man his lover than in that moment. “Don’t go too hard on him. He might be necessary.”

“I always knew we would get along.”

“It’s hardly surprising.” 

Desmond found himself in Shawn’s bed three minutes later. He didn’t know why, but as long as he didn’t have to think about why Ezio kept calling Altair “caro” he would be fine. He hoped. 

* * *

 

Of course, things would not go quite as smoothly once it hit about 8 am and the other two assassins woke. For Desmond, the whole thing was a blur of ‘oh dear god why is this still happening?’

For everyone else, the conversation went along the lines of: 

“Uh, Shawn, why are Desmond’s ancestors standing in the kitchen?” 

“They’re attempting to figure out the toaster. They just got the hang of the microwave and the oven. The refrigerator still boggles their minds. Not that it’s all that surprising though. All things considered.” 

“And how did they get here?” 

“Apple I suppose. Ask Desmond. He’s the idiot responsible.” 

Any further conversation was stopped by the sound of Ezio squawking and cursing at said toaster in Italian, until he stopped, sauntered into the animus room with a piece of toast hanging out of his mouth, grinning. A rather disgruntled looking Altair followed- of course, his frown was interrupted as the Italian attempted to shove a piece of toast down his throat. 

“Ezio, I don’t want the damn toast.” 

“But it’s so... _toasty_...” 

“I am ashamed to admit that you descend from my lineage.” 

“And that’s just the long-winded way of saying that you _love_ me.” 

It was then unanimously decided that they ought to take advantage of the fact that two master assassins were currently under their roof, and thus Desmond found himself being thrown into a training room with his current nightmare. 

Which, expectedly, got worse once he realized that he would be training under Altair- who would have made a damn good drill sergeant. He’d run through every single attack and counter-attack that he could think of while the older two watched, then held back tears as the Syrian ripped into his poor stance and terrible handling as Ezio started to move his body into proper position. 

“Just do what he says. The man might be a bastard, but he knows what he’s doing.” 

“Thanks, I think” 

At least the Italian wasn’t going to make his life a living hell. 

Or so Desmond thought until the two started to set up a parkour heaven inside the large training room of their new hideout. Soon he was running through a pre-determined route with the two master assassins on his heels. His objective was to keep as much space between himself and their blades as possible. They didn’t actually cut him, but his sweatshirt was full of so many holes by the time they were satisfied with his performance that he was making jokes about it’s properties as a holy relic. 

Ezio, predictably, found this hilarious. Altair just shook his head and muttered something about ‘idiot descendants’ under his breath. 

“Don’t mind him, Dessy, he’s just incapable of laughter.” 

“I don’t think he ever learned how to emote.” 

“I believe you have a point, amico, the idiota is too cold to know how to live properly.” 

“Did he not have enough friends or something?” 

“I think his only friend was a bit like your Shawn, so it’s no surprise he’s like this.” 

“Yeah, and they don’t name a guy Son of None for nothing.” 

“Indeed. It’s pietoso.” 

“I think he’s going to kill us.” 

“Most likely.” 

“Should we run?” 

“No. He’s fast enough to catch us easily.” 

“We’re fucked.” 

Ezio laughed at that, composing himself enough to admit “Indeed we are, Des.” He then promptly continued laughing. 

Desmond was pretty sure that his life was insane. He comforted himself with the thought that while his life might be hell training under his ancestors, at least the Templars would soon be feeling his pain.


End file.
